


you put your arms around me and i'm home

by ohwow (orphan_account)



Category: Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ohwow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven Days, 168 Hours, 10, 080 Minutes, 604, 800 Seconds - that's how long it took Allison Reynolds to realize that she was completely and utterly in love with Andrew Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. sunday

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a long time ago, but never really thought much of it until I revisited it and decided to fix it up some.

__

I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart  
But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start  
You put your arms around me  
And I believe that it’s easier for you to let me go  
You put your arms around me and I’m home

  


* * *

  


* * *

The phone didn’t ring.

Not once.

She tried to pretend that she wasn’t hopelessly waiting for him to call her like he said he would before his dad honked the horn for the last time. Busying herself with things to do – all of which somehow revolved around the phone in the living room – all day to keep herself occupied so she didn’t focus on the phone, on Andrew. When her mother asked what she was doing, she insisted that she was only sitting on the couch (right next to the phone to be the first one to answer it incase he called) to do some light reading.

He’s going to call… she told herself again and again as she sat on the couch, watching old re-runs of I Love Lucy and M*A*S*H to pass the time. He’s only busy – he might even be grounded. She wanted to snort at that: kids like Andrew Clarke don’t get grounded the same as regular kids like her do. They get a slap on the wrist and a little, “don’t do it again”, then sent off to do whatever.

She continuously lied to herself with excuses that were slowly growing more feeble as the day passed and her mother called her for lunch, then for dinner, then her father turned the channel to watch some stupid game show, then when her mother told her to get ready for bed because there was school tomorrow, and she missed to much of it already.

Gulping down the last of what remained of her desert, she imagined that it was Andrew’s head she was stabbing each time the fork make a squelching sound as it sliced through the apple crumble and against the porcelain plate.

He was just like all those other stupid jerks that taunted and teased her at school. Let’s try and get a rile out of Alison, she mocked in her mind, losing her appetite completely. Her chest hurt (not due to Andrew; chest pains had nothing to do with him) and her throat was getting tight. She swallowed the last bit of apple crumble down with a harsh gulp.

She wasn’t going to waste her time on some stupid boy.


	2. ii. monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second drabble.   
> ;) enjoy.

__

How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around?  
I can’t decided if I’ll let you save my life or if I’ll down  
I hope that you see right through my walls  
I hope that you catch me, ‘cause I’m already falling  
I’ll never let a love get so close  
You put your arms around me and I’m home

* * *

  


* * *

It was hard to roll out of bed that morning – with a heavy heart and a dull ache in her chest, Allison readied herself for the taunts and jeers to come once they find out about her and Andrew Clarke. Then again, knowing him, the follower of the pack, he might keep his lips sealed tight and not tell anyone. When she made the move to comment on it, he’d send her off with a fake smile, and then turn to his friends to talk about her behind her back.

“She’s so weird, she just like, started talking to me about being a pathological liar*”; she’d be left to deal with the aftermath of it all when his friends decided they wanted to pick on someone. She felt bad for Brian who was going to blindly walk up to them and start talking as though they were friends – just like Claire said, they would wait for him to leave and then start on the poor kid.

She could handle it. It was nothing new for her to see or hear them talk about her; Brian was such a naïve kid who actually thought that – he – they cared. She wasn’t going to let that happen, though. Ignoring them was the best option; give Andrew a taste of his own medicine. He didn’t call her; well she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to badmouth her to all of his little friends.  
“Allison – let’s go!”

Her mother’s impatient call broke her from the faces she was making in front of the washroom mirror while putting on eyeliner. Everything would be forgotten: no Bender, no Claire, no Brian, no detention…No Andrew, nothing. That Saturday never happened; she sealed it off by adding an extra coat to her darkened eyes, messing her hair up to its original state.

She stared into the mirror a while longer until her mother’s insistent calls for her to hurry up became too much. With a grunt of frustration, she grabbed her bag and thrust the wooden door open.

“I’m coming!”

* * *

Much like how she predicted it all to happen, it played out.

She saw Brian jog up to Andrew’s gang, big smiles and friendly hello’s were exchanged until one of them started laughing. Thankfully, she didn’t see Andrew with them – she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted to the whole thing if he were there.

“Leave him alone,” she picked up his fallen bag, sneering at the jocks and their blue school jackets. Vaguely she wondered what he would tell them when they found out his patch was missing, but shook that thought off and focused on Brian. “You alright?” She asked, passing him his bag and reaching out a hand for him to take.

Someone snorted, “Oh, look, its nerd and his crazy girlfriend.”

Allison ignored them; keeping her gaze trained on the torn looking kid in front of her. Something told her that he was looking for their approval, even though they just humiliated him and pushed him around. Always the followers, she thought, pulling her hand back when he failed to take it.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he defended, glancing eagerly up at the kids who were pushing him around not moments ago. “She’s just a basket-case.”

They cracked up, calling out about a “lover quarrel” and Brian stood beside them looking oddly pleased with himself. It wasn’t his fault; not really, he just never had people this cool act like they were his friends before. She didn’t blame him, but it just hampered her mood even more to find out that he was taking the side of those who were bullying him.

Allison ignored them, muttering a quick “I told you so” to Brian and then walking off.

So much for being your own person and standing aside from the crowd, she thought, rolling her eyes.

Bender and Claire were sort of odd, she mused, watching them from across the hall. Instead of Bender being the ignored, Claire was. He didn’t even look at her when she turned to him, smiling and waving. It was strange, but not overtly so.

Her crestfallen look when he said something snide about her to his friends was noticeable even from where Allison was standing. She would have felt smug about it – the beauty Queen getting a taste of her own medicine, but she wasn’t.

Why were boys such jerks?

She closed her locker with a slam, ready to face the rest of the day ahead of her.

Unfortunately, Andrew was in the majority of her classes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) - this is a quote taken (somewhat) from the movie _Mean Girls_  
>  The film has NO correlation to this story.


	3. iii. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! =]

The world is coming down on me and I can’t find a reason to be loved  
I never wanna leave you but I can’t make you bleed if I’m alone  
You put your arms around me  
And I believe that it’s easier for you to let me go

He ignored her.

She tentatively smiled at him during their Science class, and he looked away. That wouldn’t have bothered her much if she hadn’t already started to like him just a little bit. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t waiting for him (just like she wasn’t waiting for him to call on Sunday, or meet her by her locker on Monday), but it wasn’t working.

Allison tried to be the strong-willed one by going home on Saturday and trying to forget them all. She didn’t want to be like Claire – eager to be with Bender, ready to show people that she wasn’t a materialistic girl.

And, she supposed in some way, she wasn’t like Claire. No, she was much worse with her pinning after Andrew. She made up a daydream about them – about how on Sunday, he would call and they would talk all day about the little things, the things that didn’t matter, all the way to the bigger things, and the things that did matter. Then on Monday, he’d be laughing with his friends in the hallway, and stop dead in his tracks when she walked up to her locker.

“Where are you going, Andrew?” They would ask him as he blindly turned from them and walked towards her.

He’d stop in front of her locker, looking deep into her eyes-

“Miss Reynolds, are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?”

She blinked as the voltaic looking woman marched up to her desk, stopping in the middle of a History lesson. Allison shook her head, trying not to draw much attention to herself; she could feel the bubbling nervousness of whether or not to be confrontational steadily grow. Most of the times when she acted out, all she got was a few dirty looks from the students around her and sent to the office. When someone else acted out, they got quiet agreements and murmurs of encouragement.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew turn toward the teacher stomping up to her, finally making eye contact with him for the first time since Saturday. She glanced away from him; she didn’t want him to think that she was pinning after him or effected at all by him either.

“Well, Miss Reynolds, what’s more interesting than your education?” Everything.

Allison shrugged slightly, “I was trying to figure out the Romans-” She motioned to a random open chapter in her old history book; “involvement with the Egyptians since I finished my homework.” Lies, lies, lies, lies.

That quieted her teacher down as she bristled to herself, “oh… Well, ahem,” she shot Allison a pointed, but pleased look, probably at the prospect of a student reading ahead. “Next time, please inform me of it earlier.”

She nodded stiffly, “sure.”

Lies, lies, lies, lies.

“Very good, now-”

Rolling her eyes, she happened to glance over at Andrew (or as she liked to refer to him as: the Follower) and choked. He was sitting across from preppy, blonde version of Claire – although, she admitted, Claire was more refined, elegant, than this … tramp – touching her arm, and smiling at her. Allison wasn’t stupid, she read those girly magazines sitting in the office when she waited for someone to get to her: he was flirting with her.

Allison stopped listening, glaring crossly at the open text book in front of her. The frayed pages and magnitude of doodles all over the book gave her mind something to focus on – a way of escaping. That was fine, it was fine; she didn’t care.

Andrew could flirt with whoever he wanted.

Picking up her pencil, the very one that she was using to mindlessly draw on her notebook previously, she scratched out the little picture she made of a heart.

Below it read Andrew & Allison


	4. iv. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...Hello? - awkward shuffle - I know this is, like, super late, but I originally had this posted on my Fanfiction account. Only, I forgot to update it on this one. Sorry... -_-"  
> Well, here's chapter four! Enjoy! =)

I hope that you see right through my walls  
I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling  
I'll never let a love get so close  
You put your arms around me and I'm home

It was only Wednesday and Allison was about to give up on school for good. She was tried of the dreary building already. The whole place could've burnt down to the ground and she wouldn't even bat an eye. She was starting to develop an antipathy to the high school. Her mum wouldn't let her stay home though, no matter how many lies Allison spilled to her. It would always come back as a resounding "no".

Toughing it out like usual seemed to be her only option – that or skipping. Her guidance Councilor had made it vehemently clear that if she were to miss another day with an unexplainable cause again, she would be shipped out to the remedial school in the next township.

Goodie, she thought with a bland taste in her mouth, kids who are just as messed up as her. It was lunch time already and the day seemed to be lagging on-and-on. No matter how many times she glanced up at the clock in her classes, time ticked by at an agonizing slow pace.

Ifit'snotoneproblem,it'sanother.The whole Andrew problem (she referred to it as the "CLARKE FIASCO" in her mind when addressing, or suppressing, it) was still at the forefront of her mind, no matter how many times she tried to push it away. It was like an elastic band; each time she pushed it away it would snap back. Someone either brought him up in a conversation, she saw him, or something reminded her of him.

It was getting ridiculous; she didn't even know the guy aside from the many taunts he threw her way whilst in the hallway or from that one Saturday detention. He barely knew her name – she was just that weird girl to him.

Thenwhydidhekissme?For that, she had no answer.

Allison was good at pegging people: Bender, the problematic kid who wanted attention; Brian, the brain who was desperate to fit in and be noticed; Claire, who was trying to run from her problems by shadowing it all in cosmetics and materialistic things to prove that she was really there; and then Andrew – the follower, the guy who did what he was told.

The kiss had been a shock, a split-second decision. It…wasn't bad either. His lips were soft against hers…no, she wasn't going to think about that, or anything else that had to do with him. She was going to get answers, though, ask him why he was ignoring her.

She saw Brian walking down the hall with some of his friends – other AP class students – and sighed a little. Maybe he would know where Andrew is, that would also give her the chance to say "I told you so".

Picking up her lunch tray, she threw the remains of her food in the trash bin, and walked over to where Brian and his friends sat down. One of them happened to glance up at her while she was walking, nudging the person next to him with his elbow, and then motioning to her.

Brian looked up and paled, visibly.

He probably thought she was going to hit him.

She should, she really, really should, she thought as she stopped in front of their table.

"Um, hi…?" One of them piped up, glancing awkwardly around.

"I need to talk to you," she pointed her gaze at Brian, ignoring his friends.

He coughed, "well, uh, you see, anything that you have to say, you can say it in front-"

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "do you know where Andrew is?"

* * *

He wasn't in home-room where Brian said he was last. Growing frustrated, she stomped away, fully intending on speaking to him one way or another today. If he was going to be childish (and break her heart) then he could do it to her face and no behind her back.

Taking the cowardly way out was really not mature.

So much for her Wednesday plans.


	5. iv. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...Hello? - awkward shuffle - I know this is, like, super late, but I originally had this posted on my Fanfiction account. Only, I forgot to update it on this one. Sorry... -_-"  
> Well, here's chapter four! Enjoy! =)

I hope that you see right through my walls  
I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling  
I'll never let a love get so close  
You put your arms around me and I'm home

It was only Wednesday and Allison was about to give up on school for good. She was tried of the dreary building already. The whole place could've burnt down to the ground and she wouldn't even bat an eye. She was starting to develop an antipathy to the high school. Her mum wouldn't let her stay home though, no matter how many lies Allison spilled to her. It would always come back as a resounding "no".

Toughing it out like usual seemed to be her only option – that or skipping. Her guidance Councilor had made it vehemently clear that if she were to miss another day with an unexplainable cause again, she would be shipped out to the remedial school in the next township.

Goodie, she thought with a bland taste in her mouth, kids who are just as messed up as her. It was lunch time already and the day seemed to be lagging on-and-on. No matter how many times she glanced up at the clock in her classes, time ticked by at an agonizing slow pace.

Ifit'snotoneproblem,it'sanother.The whole Andrew problem (she referred to it as the "CLARKE FIASCO" in her mind when addressing, or suppressing, it) was still at the forefront of her mind, no matter how many times she tried to push it away. It was like an elastic band; each time she pushed it away it would snap back. Someone either brought him up in a conversation, she saw him, or something reminded her of him.

It was getting ridiculous; she didn't even know the guy aside from the many taunts he threw her way whilst in the hallway or from that one Saturday detention. He barely knew her name – she was just that weird girl to him.

Thenwhydidhekissme?For that, she had no answer.

Allison was good at pegging people: Bender, the problematic kid who wanted attention; Brian, the brain who was desperate to fit in and be noticed; Claire, who was trying to run from her problems by shadowing it all in cosmetics and materialistic things to prove that she was really there; and then Andrew – the follower, the guy who did what he was told.

The kiss had been a shock, a split-second decision. It…wasn't bad either. His lips were soft against hers…no, she wasn't going to think about that, or anything else that had to do with him. She was going to get answers, though, ask him why he was ignoring her.

She saw Brian walking down the hall with some of his friends – other AP class students – and sighed a little. Maybe he would know where Andrew is, that would also give her the chance to say "I told you so".

Picking up her lunch tray, she threw the remains of her food in the trash bin, and walked over to where Brian and his friends sat down. One of them happened to glance up at her while she was walking, nudging the person next to him with his elbow, and then motioning to her.

Brian looked up and paled, visibly.

He probably thought she was going to hit him.

She should, she really, really should, she thought as she stopped in front of their table.

"Um, hi…?" One of them piped up, glancing awkwardly around.

"I need to talk to you," she pointed her gaze at Brian, ignoring his friends.

He coughed, "well, uh, you see, anything that you have to say, you can say it in front-"

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "do you know where Andrew is?"

He wasn't in home-room where Brian said he was last. Growing frustrated, she stomped away, fully intending on speaking to him one way or another today. If he was going to be childish (and break her heart) then he could do it to her face and no behind her back.

Taking the cowardly way out was really not mature.

So much for her Wednesday plans.


	6. vi. friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the horribly late updates on this. It's already finished on my FF.net account, but I never get around to uploading the chapters here. =/

The stale tasting crackers leave a mess of crumbs on her worn jacket. She brushes them off with disinterest, ignoring the pointed looks of disgust the girls in the row next to her send. In an act of retaliation, she purposely shoves a handful of the crackers in her mouth, chewing nosily. They huff with indignation at her antics, and turn around, whispering furiously to one another.

Beside her, Claire snorts lowly. "Mature, much?"

"Woh?"

"Ew, try not to spit everywhere."

Swallowing, Allison grins sardonically at the disgruntled girl. "I'll try."

Cheers from the crowd around them on the bleachers drown out Claire's retort. Grimacing, Allison covers her ears, blocking out the noise they cause. It was too cold to be outside – even for the middle of March – this morning, but their football team was playing a game against a rival school and everyone (or at least the students whose teacher's wanted to go) was supposed to be in attendance. The choices in the matter were narrow: it was either the game or detention, which would ultimately mean more school work.

Aside from not understanding anything that was going on in the field and the bitter chill that hung in the air, it was a much better alternative to doing class work. She would've skipped school had she known about the lack of options available, but the principal made it adamantly clear that if she missed another day, they would put her in detention with a reason this time. Spending another Saturday with Vernon (with a legitimate purpose for her attendance) was not something she wanted.

Going to school like a good girl seemed to be the only safe option. It was also more practical, as her attendance was starting to become Bender-level deliquesce. Allison saw Claire in homeroom, a dainty pink coat wrapped around her smaller body as she listened to her friend's talk about how they wouldn't be able to cheer because of the cold.

One mocking glance from the strawberry haired girl gave her enough incentive to actually begin to tolerate her. In some strange way, they were bonding more and more as the week progressed. Allison wasn't confident to call it a friendship, but at least they weren't clawing each other's eyes out.

Claire saw it as more of brooding over the fact that Bender was ignoring her and Andrew was ignoring Allison. Vehemently, she refused to acknowledge that, and insisted that Claire was stalking her instead. It was easier than to admit that she might have been right about their similar situations, even though she would rather walk on glass over grouping Claire Standish in the same category as herself.

"I actually hate football," Claire says, breaking the silence that lingered between them after the jeering interruption. It was Allison's turn to snort. Seeing the disbelief on her face, Claire continues hastily. "I only watch it because I'm a cheerleader and I'm supposed to, you know."

"Not really," she grins at the other's girl's look of exasperation. "Fine, whatever, so you hate football. Why?"

Shivering against the cold gust of wind that rushes by, she rolls her eyes. "It's, like, really, really boring. My dad takes me to games sometimes because he just wants to drink beer without having my mum fuss about it. I've only been to two with him, though; after the first game he started to realize that I didn't care, so he drops me off at the mall with his credit card and picks me up when it's over."

"Oh, how tragic, Claire," She mocks, throwing her a condescending eye roll. "The poor children in Africa really can't compare to that woeful story."

Smacking her lightly, Claire grins regardless of the teasing. "Shut up, okay? I'm trying to be sentimental here."

"Well don't;" she reaches for another cracker, "it's really weird."

A laugh of indignation comes beside her as Claire grabs the cracker from her hand. "You're calling me weird? I never thought I'd see the day…"

Allison grumbles under her breath, but takes no insult to the jab. Repeatedly, she tries to tell herself that they weren't friends until Claire taps her shoulder and points to a girl with a bad perm, and says something that makes her laugh loudly. Eventually, she gives up and stops trying to convince herself altogether.

"Hey, look its Andrew!" Claire suddenly shouts, jabbing her in her arm with her elbow. "He scored a touchdown."

Her heart does not beat furiously at the name and her palms do not get sweaty. She isn't some love-stuck teenager who's chasing the quarterback with puppy eyes and a long list of clichés. That sort of thing on happened in the movies, and this was not a movie. Allison was not interested in him anymore.

He was a coward.

Just another stupid, stupid boy who did what he was told.

Shrugging, she crumples the empty cracker wrapper in her hand and drops it onto the bleacher floor. "So…? I don't care."

She has a habit of lying and Claire knows this. "If that's the case, then I guess you won't care about Mary, you know, the girl who asked him out last night."

The threads of her heart clench painfully. She knew Mary; they went to middle school together. She was gorgeous and popular and normal. "Oh, good for them."

"Mm," Claire hums, rubbing her hands together, "I'd say so too, but the thing is – he said no."

Allison swallows down the shred of hope that rushes through her at those words. He said no; Andrew turned Mary down. Shaking her head against her foolishness and baseless excitement, she clenches her hands in her lap. Just because he said no to Mary, that didn't mean he wanted to date her. He probably doesn't like her, that's all.

Still, she can't help not to feel a trickle of relief that he turned her down.

"Which is really weird, because he also said he liked someone else," Claire continued, watching Allison out of the corner of her eye. "I mean, I don't know anyone else he kissed on a Saturday after detention, but I'm pretty sure-"

"I don't care," she denied the other girl's words quickly, refusing to let the hope inside grow any bigger. It was stupid to think that Andrew – the same person who went with what everyone else said or did – would like her. She wasn't popular and had no friends. If they did go out, he would be subjected to ridicule everyday. Someone like him, who thrived on the opinion on others, would never be able to hack that sort of treatment.

She blocks out Claire's words for the remainder of the game until the rosette haired teen finally gives up with a sigh. Neither of them speaks, watching the game in silence. Once it's over, Claire stands up and follows Allison back into the school. Finally, she turns to the darker haired girl and narrows her eyes: "don't play stupid, Allison, you know he likes you, but maybe you're just too afraid to admit it," before she turned on her heel and followed her peers to her next class.

Afraid? That was laughable. Allison made it clear that she liked him, but he refuted her with his qualms about what everyone else would think. Maybe he did like her, but it wasn't as if he was going to do something about it. He made it clear yesterday that he was more focused on public approval.

She slammed her locker door shut, ignoring the freshmen giving her a strange look, and leaned against the cool metal. Her conflicting thoughts were giving her a headache that pounded in her skull. Why Andrew so confusing? And more importantly, why couldn't she just ignore him like she did everyone else? What was so special about him?

He was Andrew Clarke, the only boy who made her want to punch them in the face and kiss them at the same time. The walking contradiction who was probably the biggest conformist she knew. He hated all the things he surrounded himself with but did nothing about it. He was a follower of the crowd.

So, why did she like him so much?

"Uh, hey, Allison," the familiar husky voice whispered, sounding so close.

The bell rang but neither of them paid it any attention. She slowly detached herself from her locker, turning to face the sandy haired boy who'd been plaguing her constantly since Saturday. He stood awkward in the middle of the hall, backpack slung over one shoulder and his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

After yesterday's confrontation, she didn't think she would see him again. Or at least, she wouldn't talk to her anymore; or maybe he'd avoid her at all costs, aside from scathing remarks in the boys locker room about how much of a weird bitch she really was. Really, she wouldn't blame him if he did; if anyone spoke to her like that, she'd probably stick her tongue out childishly and throw crumpled up paper at their head all day.

"What do you want?" Always on the defensive with him, she noted. "Why aren't you with Mary or someone?"

He blinked, processing her words that she didn't mean to say. They slipped out before she could stop them. Andrew's eyes widened after a moments beat. "Oh, you heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I did."

"I turned her down," he admitted, much like Claire said.

Once again, Allison found herself pushing away that same shred of hope that kept resurfacing. "What do you want anyway?"

"I, uh, I was going to my locker, but I saw you…"

It stung more than it should. "Like I care."

"Um, hey," he shifted awkwardly, pulling one hand out of his pocket to latch onto the strap of his backpack. "Do you really want to go to fourth?"

"Like hell," she scoffed.

Andrew grinned.

(Allison pretended that her heart didn't skip a beat.)

"I wonder what your friend's are going to say when they find out you skipped with me," she says idly, walking two steps behind him, hands burrowed deep in her pockets. The chill left behind from December still lingered in March and she was feeling it seep through her worn brown jacket. Shivering, her dug her hands deeper into the warm cocoon of her pockets, and counts the cracks on the sidewalk, waiting for his response.

Andrew Clarke asking her, Allison Reynolds, to skip with him was definitely not under the jock's approval system, or whatever biased means of social hierarchy he followed so religiously. Claire broke free from it – sort of; her wanting to talk to Allison was chalked up to feeling bitter about Bender and needing someone in a similar situation to brood over. Since Allison was the only other girl who could relate to being left behind when Monday came, she was using her as an outlet.

Of course, this was the only probability that made sense.

Refusing to see it as anything else, it was the single remaining explanation as to why someone like Claire would want to even been seen with someone like Allison. She didn't directly say they were friends – although, the attempt had been made, once on Claire's part – and Allison was comfortable with the way things were between them.

They could talk to one another without the faux pleasantries that came along with it. Allison could say whatever she wanted without fearing their friendship and Claire could do the same. She didn't see them having sleepovers or gossiping together anytime soon, but was thankful for the mutual acquaintance they had.

She didn't have anyone else to talk about Andrew with, and Claire's friend's would die if they found out she liked Bender.

Andrew slowed his pace, letting her catch up to him easily as they fell into a steady walk through the park. It was practically empty, aside from a few younger children with their parents and an old man sitting on the bus bench. Allison never skipped school to go to a park before; normally, she would take refugee in the public library, huddle in the corner, hunched over a book by Plath* as the other occupants tried to figure out whose kid she was or if she was going to steal anything.

The change of scenery was welcome, especially when she thinks of spending the day in a stuffy classroom, trying not to fall asleep.

"Maybe I don't care what they think."

The words spoken in his husky tone send a flash of nervousness through her. Insisting that he was only putting up a cool-guy front, she rebuffs him with a knock to his arm with her shoulder. "Maybe I think you're full of shit."

Unlike her, he doesn't take the defensive as easily, and pushes his arm back against her shoulder, uttering a quiet: "Maybe I'm not."

Allison pulls away, mind reeling at the implications his words have. "What do you want anyway?"

Blinking at the suddenness of her attitude, he clears his throat beside her. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you doing this – skipping with me, acting as if nothing happened? You're too confusing." He scoffs, but she ignores him. "What do you even want, anyway?"

He stops walking, standing in the middle of the park with his hands buried in his pockets. "I – uh, I…"

"If you don't like me, say so! I'm a big girl, I can handle it, you know –"

Andrew falters, pulling his hands out and running them his short hair. Dropping them to his side, their hands brush and he throws he a cautious look, but says nothing.

She's been doing so much pretending up until that point that it comes naturally to her as she blames the onslaught of nervous tingles spreading through her on the cold. Shaking herself from the rousing emotions, she bites her lip harshly, trying to calm her erratically beating heart.

Andrew's eyes were on her face, watching her pout. She hates the effect he has on her; he's just some stupid boy, so why did he matter? With no answer to her questions, she squares her shoulders, turning her glare on him instead. The words tumble out before she can process them, biting and sharp like the cold chill surrounding them.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Shocked, he stares agape at her, blinking quickly. "I-I…"

"Whatever - just forget it," she spits, turning away from him when he suddenly looks away. The embarrassment that rushes through her was almost painful and she doesn't want to hear his retort. He says nothing and the humiliation is too much to bear; the bitter sting of rejection burns her, and even though she was sure she set herself up for it, Allison can't stop the angry, embarrassed tears from filling her eyes.

As she is about to run, desperate to get away from him, she feels his hand curl over her shoulder, stopping her movements. "A-Allison, wait…"

When she glances over at him, he clears his throat once, a dusting of pink spreading over the bridge of his nose.

"What?" She snaps, bitterly wiping away the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. Usually, she wasn't a crier. Kicking and screaming and biting and throwing things were her style of when something hurt her or she was angry. It was the only way to gain any attention from her parents when she did so, but with Andrew, all of her confrontations were done in tears or angry words. It's confounds her in ways she can't express; she wasn't one to show her pain so easily – but that didn't seem to be the case with him.

Andrew reaches up, brushing a stray tear from her eye. The pad of his rough thumb running across her cheekbone sends her stomach churning. His eyes suddenly look more intense as he stares at her. His adam's apple bobs up and down once as he gulps thickly, then, so quietly she's staining to hear him, he says: "I kissed you because I wanted to."

There weren't any cliché fireworks at his confession (if it could really count as a confession) or any sparks like they described in the movies and books, and she certainly doesn't 'melt', but she does feel heavier. Like a thick blanket being dropped over shoulders from above, it makes her knees quake and her pulse quicken. Her face heats up when he looks at her away. Swallowing, she sniffs, trying to cover up the momentary embarrassment (and happiness that flutters through her at his words), she moves over and punches him.

"Like I care." She lies. "Since when does Andrew 'Follow the Leader' Clarke does what he wants to?"

"Heh," he grins, cheeks flushing in embarrassment or from the cold, rubbing his arm. "I can think for myself, you know."

She scoffs, but says nothing to him, letting his words wash over her. If she believes him now, and sets herself up for the inevitable whiplash he is sure to cause her come tomorrow when he wants nothing to do with Allison Reynolds, the weird girl, anymore and starts to date that Mary-what'sherface, she isn't sure she can handle it. Her devil-may-care facade only went as far as she could throw it.

When it came to Andrew, her aim was terrible.

"So," he sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "Uh, what about you?"

Blaming the sudden shiver that races down her spine on the cold and her tattered jacket, not on the low tone of his voice, she glances at him. His face his even redder, smearing across his cheeks and neck, and he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, refusing to meet her stare.

"What about me?"

Coughing into his hand, he mumbles out a sentence, face becoming a brighter tinge. "D-do you like me?"

Andrew's voice was low and she strained to hear him over the gusts of wind blowing against her. Do you like me? His hesitant words, whispered in almost a vulnerable tone, wash over her like cold water, drenching her to the bone. Instead of blushing at his words, giggling shrilly and swatting his arm flirtatiously, she's get angry. Obviously she likes him. What kind of question was that?

Turning toward him, ready to yell and scream and kick and lie until she's cornered, his imploring, honest look stops her. Andrew Clarke wasn't supposed to look at her like that - open, shy and as though she were the most amazing thing in the world. He was supposed to give her a hesitant smile in the hallway when she passed by, then when she was out of hearing range, tear her to pieces with his friend's standing around him, laughing and cheering him on.

He looks regretful now (maybe he shouldn't have told her?); avoiding her eye, shifting nervously, and shoving his hands in and out of his pocket. When they lock gazes once, she can see the slight panic swimming behind his brown eyes.

Sighing, she hunched her shoulders up to her neck in irritation. Did he really have to ask such stupid question? Then she remembered that he was Andrew Clarke - the stupid boy who needed reassurance and guidance from someone else, because he was a perpetual follower - and she was Allison Reynolds: the girl who didn't care about what people thought and wore too much eyeliner and not enough concealer.

"No shit, Sherlock," she rolls her eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Then, because she's Allison Reynolds and he's Andrew Clarke, she punches him for asking such a stupid question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Plath is a reference to the amazing Sylvia Plath.


End file.
